Desserts
by StMomo
Summary: A series of character studies, because every character deserves a tale, even if it is never heard.
1. Blondies

Disclaimer: I do not own _Katekyo Hitman Reborn__**. **_The Desserts format is courtesy of Roses of Sharon.

Summary: A series of character studies, because every character deserves a tale, even if it is never heard. Part One: Blondies.

Chapter Summary: Blondies. Dino, Spanner, Belphegor, Rasiel, Iemitsu, Ken, Colonello, Giotto.

Desserts

Part I: Blondies

_i. Dino_

They used to call him a dumb blonde. Didn't he fit the stereotype to the T? He was blonde, bumbling, clumsy and air-headed. But that had changed and he had changed. They stopped calling him dumb a long time ago. Maybe it was when he became boss and solved a financial crisis that even the most genius accountant called impossible. Maybe it was before that, back in high school when he'd first stood up for himself. He couldn't remember now. Now they called him Boss or Bucking Horse, the young blonde boss of the Cavallone. Too bad he was still waiting to be called something different...something better. Still waiting for someone to call him Dino...Dino the person, not Dino the boss or Dino the blonde. Just Dino.

_ii. Belphegor_

People used to have trouble believing he was a prince. After all, princes were tall, dark and handsome. He'd seen the Disney movies and read the fairytales along with the other children. He'd thrown them aside, scoffing at their uselessness. Nobody knew but later, when the castle was asleep, he'd ripped each and every page into shreds. He'd blamed it on Rasiel of course. He was a prince, he could do that. Oh yes, he was a prince. Nobody would doubt it long. Because Belphegor might not be tall-but he'd grow. He might not be handsome-but there was something charming in the smile of his, the one that called you to death. But he was dark yes. His hair might be blonde, but who really cared about that? His soul was dark and that was enough. Being Prince Charming wasn't his goal, it never was. Because he was born a prince yes; he was born Prince the Ripper.

_iii. Rasiel_

Rasiel was the typical dumb blonde, though his arrogance didn't let him see the fact. He was first born but born to be last. His foolishness was destined, after all, wasn't the blonde always the bad guy? And didn't the bad guy always get defeated in the end? So how didn't he see it? His hair fell about his face, blonde strands spread along the mud caked ground, rain washing the blonde free of the red that stained it. He wouldn't know that though. His eyes were unseeing, staring straight ahead at his own defeat. Maybe he should've run when he had the chance.

_iv. Spanner_

Spanner wasn't beautiful, like Dino. He wasn't attractive like Belphegor. No, he was just Spanner-waif-like and pale, pale, pale-a ghost trapped in his own world. But unlike Dino or Bel, he was free. Yes, he was pale, blond and blue-eyed. Endlessly pale from the time he spent inside his workshop, tinkering on something or other for days on end. But he chose that, he liked that. The world outside wasn't for him, the world inside his head was bigger, was better. He was bigger, better than Dino or Bel whose worries weighed them down and made them small. But they chose that as well, didn't they?

_v. Iemitsu_

He'd always been noticed. Blonde against tanned skin, looming over others. Yes, he was noticeable in Japan, his home now. But he liked that. He liked standing out, even when some laughed at him, even when others gawped and stared. Because at least they saw him, at least they noticed him. At least here he was something, something more than the insignificant shadow he'd been. At least here he didn't fade, worthless and plain, into the background like he did in Italy. His home....no, not anymore. Because the shadows were too dark and he'd grown afraid of that dark. Here he was in the light, the light that looked so like those blonde yellow tresses.

_vi. Colonello_

Colonello was blonde and beautiful, one who looked like the fallen angels painted in the Italian churches. But sometimes he had to wonder, when he stood late at night in front of the mirror, blue staring into reflected blue for hours, if fallen demon didn't sound more like him. After all, angels didn't kill...they didn't grab the gun and shoot and shoot and shoot until they could see no sense of movement. They certainly didn't resume shooting after that, letting bullets riddle and tear through the bloated flesh of the bodies because they liked the sound of gunfire, because they hoped that sound would overwhelm them and drown them, that that sound might signal their own end. No, angels most certainly didn't do that. No, Colonello thought, blue into blue forever, not even demons did that. Only humans did.

_vii. Giotto_

When the Vongola Rings had been given, the Guardians set and gathered around their boss, when history had been set in motion, one might think that point was serious and holy. No, not when that boss was the Vongola Primo, Giotto. When his rain guardian had asked why rain users held a blue flame while the sky held orange, Giotto had fallen silent for a moment. Blue was the color of the sky yes...but it wasn't the color of the Sky Flame holders. No, the holders of the flame of sky weren't pure enough for the color, they were more orange-the color of fire, of pain, of death...for they certainly weren't pure. They couldn't be, not to do what they had to do. Giotto though just joked that it went with his hair better.

_viii. Ken_

Ken stood out, the odd man out in the trio. He was blond, light against Mukuro's darkness, against Chikusa's sobriety. He'd always felt it, the weirdness of being the only one in the trio to stand out. So he tried harder than the other two to fit in, to emulate the other two. And he cried every time he failed, though he hid it well. What he'd never realize, because the others hid things as well as he did, was that he couldn't fit in, that they didn't want him to fit in. Because Ken was blonde and light and airy and oh so childlike. And Ken was still able to laugh, even as he bled, even as he killed. Because somewhere in Ken there was a piece that was still alive. Maybe that's why the other two would stroke his hair at points, hands dipping into the blonde as the sun bleached it nearly white. Because Ken was light, Ken was soft, and Ken was alive.


	2. Mud Pies

Disclaimer: I do not own _Katekyo Hitman Reborn. _The Desserts format is courtesy of Roses of Sharon.

Summary: A series of character studies, because every character deserves a tale, even if it is never heard. Part Two: Mud Pies

Chapter Summary: Mud Pies. Shamal, Giannini, Romario, Chikusa, Skull, Gokudera, Tsuna, Lambo.

Desserts

Part II: Mud Pies

_i. Shamal_

Shamal is just Shamal. Shamal is common, Shamal is steadfast. But Shamal is mud, common common and easily ignored. Because Shamal has no where to go, Shamal has no dreams. But he's seen men and women fall before he does. He's lost friends, he's lost lovers. They had dreams, they weren't mud, they were trees and sky and air and oh so driven and pure and fire and light. But Shamal is mud, always there. But even he knows that mud eventually dries and so will he. Because mud becomes dirt and when he's below the dirt, he'll be forgotten, he'll be dirt and mud and gone.

_ii. Giannini_

Giannini is a failure, mud beneath the Vongola's feet. He's not great, not wonderful, not like his father. Because he's not a genius, he's just mud. But that's okay, because mud holds fast and so does he. Because out of the mud grows the trees and the flowers and out of the mud comes civilization. And he'll become better and he'll grow and grow and grow. He'll give birth to flowers and trees and he'll build the Vongola up. Because only mud can do that.

_iii. Romario_

And brown suits him. Because he is brown and brown is him. Brown is there but brown is easily ignored. There's nothing special about brown and there's nothing special about him. But that's okay because brown always shows through. And he'll always show through, he'll always be there. That's how he was wants it, being the ever-present shadow, brown to yellow. Because brown will show through yes. Brown will brighten the yellow because that's what brown does. Easily ignored but oh so needed.

_iv. Chikusa_

If Ken is air and Mukuro is the trees and flowers than Chikusa is mud. He's uninteresting, he's quiet and he's boring. But just like the mud pervades the air with its heavy, cloying smell he pervades Ken. He's Ken's constant companion, he keeps Ken in line, and he deals with the air's lighthearted approach to everything. Just as the mud supports the trees, he supports Mukuro. He'll always support him, he'll allow him to grow, and he'll keep him strong. He's already buried Mukuro's roots deep inside him and now he just needs to keep letting the roots go farther and farther until there's nothing left of Chikusa, until there's just the barest hint of mud at the base of the tree, filling the air with it's decaying, heavy, cloying deaddeaddead smell.

_v. Skull_

Skull was an Arcobaleno yes…holder of the purple pacifier. Funny that he'd have that one. He wasn't a cloud; no…he wasn't light and fluffy nor threatening and foreboding. He didn't protect the family while drifting his own way. Like hell that he'd be able to do that…he had no family. He had nothing…what he protected he did only to prove to them all that he was good enough. But they never paid attention, they never let him in. He was always the odd man out. He was never good enough for them. He was never good enough for himself. They were the sky and him…he was mud, always stuck on the ground. Always alone.

_vi. Gokudera_

Nobody would ever think of Gokudera as mud. No, he was bright and vibrant and fiery and explosive. He was everything mud was not, everything mud could never be. But one never sees what others see. And Gokudera sees himself as mud, as _mudmudmud_ on the sole of the mafia's boot. Because Gokudera is nothing but a failure and he can't start winning if he can't stop failing.

_vii. Tsuna_

And Tsuna was plain and Tsuna was common and Tsuna was boring. He was nobody, nobody but No-Good Tsuna. And it's funny that he's going to become a mafia boss and it's funny that he has everyone. Because has he changed? Is he still mud or has he grown? He sees nothing different about him. He's still plain and common and boring and he's still just Tsuna. But maybe that's okay. Because playing with mud every once in a while is fun as long as it washes off eventually. And having friends, having family for this period is fun even if they'll leave eventually.

_viii. Lambo_

Lambo fails every day. He fails at beating Reborn, he fails at being funny, and he fails at being cool. And everyone is used to that. Because everyone is used to the dumb cow. And while Lambo cries and they scream or laugh, one has to wonder if a loser can ever win. And Lambo has to wonder if he'll ever win, if he'll ever be anything other than 'stupid cow' to anyone. Because he really just wants someone to stop yelling or laughing, he just wants a hand on the head and 'good job Lambo'. But that's only for winners. And Lambo's just a loser.


	3. Vanilla Ice Cream

Disclaimer: I do not own _Katekyo Hitman Reborn. _The Desserts format is courtesy of Roses of Sharon.

Summary: A series of character studies, because every character deserves a tale, even if it is never heard. Part Three: Vanilla Ice Cream.

Chapter Summary: Vanilla Ice Cream. Byakuran, Squalo, Ryohei, Gokudera

Desserts

Part III: Vanilla Ice Cream

_i. Byakuran_

He was born with white hair. It fit in an odd sort of way. Because even as a child Byakuran was old. And he grew older by the day, hate and greed mixing, mingling, and wearing him down as the days went by. And he didn't have to worry about growing old and getting white hairs. Because his hair was already white and he could not grow old. The dead do not age and though he walked and talked and breathed, acting each moment of every day, he was dead and undead and a zombie now. His mind had died, ruined by life and love and power. No white hairs for him no. No old age for him.

_ii. Squalo_

His hair wasn't always like this. It wasn't always prematurely white. It had once shone silvery blonde but then the white started coming in. And the white kept coming as the ideas and the thoughts and the voices and the bodies, oh the bodies, how they piled. And looking in the mirror began to hurt because each white hair, each strand was stained red in his eyes, each one dyed in the blood of another. And each strand keeps getting longer and redder and whiter and _bloodbloodblood_ for a selfish god. And that's god's hair had no white. No, that god was dark and sinister and oh so haunting. And that god was never satisfied. And that god would drown that white in red and laugh and laugh as Squalo killed and died and killed and died. Because that god demanded nothing less than Squalo's life. And that's what he gave.

_iii. Ryohei_

And Ryohei looked in the mirror, body broken and battered. It wasn't the cuts and bruises he noticed. Those were the routine. Those were manageable and noticeable and what he lived for. It was what he noticed, something small and unnoticeable to all but him. The white sneaking up into his silvery hair. And he sighed and felt the urge to cry. But he didn't because he was not only a man, but a young man of 28. Too young to have white hairs, too young to grow old. But he'd been growing old for many years now. He'd been growing old since the day he first met Tsuna. Growing older, wiser, more jaded, stronger, weaker, became a killer, became prey. Sometimes he wondered, looking at Hana's relaxed face as she slept, unsuspecting and unawares, whether he regretted his past and his future. If he regretted ever meeting Tsuna that day. He never could decide.

_iv. Gokudera_

His hair wasn't white, no. It was silvery gray, metallic and cold. It brought to mind smoke and overcast days. And that was okay. Because he didn't deserve white, he wasn't good enough for white. He wasn't pure, wasn't snow and icicles and winter and children laughing and couple's snuggling. He wasn't innocent, wasn't untainted. His white had been stained, been tarnished and muddled and become cold and gray and silver and smoke and dark clouds. But, he thought, at least it was better than staining it red.


	4. Strawberry Cream

_A/N: An apology to any of you following this story about the rather late update. Unfortunately, I've been having some trouble with my internet. I will try to update faster from now on. Also, I will happily admit that this is probably one of the worst chapters that will appear in this story as I had quite a bit of trouble for this prompt. On a more positive note, thank you to __The Rudiment Goldbrick_ _ for the very nice review. It's always great to read things like that. Because you were my first and only reviewer for the past three chapters, you win…a one shot/drabble! Go you! Contact me via a message with your character/fandom request, please._

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Disclaimer: I do not own _Katekyo Hitman Reborn._

Summary: A series of character studies, because every character deserves a tale, even if it is never heard. Part Four: Strawberry Cream.

Chapter Summary: Strawberry Cream. Shoichi Irie, Xanxus, Basil, Reborn, Fuuta, Hibari, Yamamoto

Desserts

Part IV: Strawberry Cream

_i. Shoichi Irie  
_

And Irie is soft. Too soft to see the consequences of his actions. Too soft to stop them when they came to fruition. Too soft to stop _him_. Irie is soft like the creeping up of sleep that only serves to bring the nightmares back again, to bring the bile rising up in his stomach. He's soft like the thin, spidery threads of guilt that wrap around him, binding him, choking him until his breath comes _softersoftersofter_, until his breath is a mere whistle. He's too soft to live like this, too soft to stop it.

_ii. Xanxus  
_

And Xanxus is red. Deep red, the color of over-ripe strawberries, of rotted apples, of blood and of anger. Because what else is there of Xanxus? What else is there to him but a rotted soul, burning away every day from all the anger he feels? What else is there to him but blood? Blood is all it ever boiled down to. The blood he thought he held, that blood that lied to him, the _dirtyfilthywrongwrongwrong _blood that runs through his veins. The blood that just isn't good enough. Not good enough for them, the arrogant pricks that look down on him, whisper behind his back. _He's not Vongola, no he isn't, stupid boy, lying, stupid boy. _Not good enough for them, not good enough to splatter the ground with like all the blood he's spilled.

_iii. Basil  
_

Basil is pink. Dyed pink as his innocence, white and pure, is dyed red in the blood of those against the family. And the pink is growing deeper every day, tinged more and more red as his innocence disappears, drowns under the sea of red as it flows through his fingers from gaping wounds. But he can't help it, wouldn't want to help it. After all, it's all for the family. But is it, he sometimes wonders, as he lays in the bathwater, rinsing off the blood and dying the water just as pink as he is. Is it really? Or is it for him? Could he stop this killing now if the family didn't need him? Could he quit that rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the chase? And would it even matter? The family will always need him and he will give his all to the family, selling them his soul piece by piece.

_iv. Reborn  
_

Reborn is white, white like the cream on top of strawberries. The cheap stuff, fake cream, with no texture and overpowering flavor. Because Reborn is fake, all the way through. Because Reborn isn't real, Reborn doesn't exist. Reborn died a long time ago. They took Reborn and they killed him, a slow, painful killing, spanning ages. Because he died a little the first time he picked up that gun. He died a little the moment he accepted their first offer. _We want you in the family, Reborn_. He was dying, half-gone already by the time he accepted their second offer. _Become an Arcobaleno, Reborn_. And that was the night he died. The night they killed him. _Sacrifice it all, Reborn. Give it to us, Reborn. Your body, your life, yourself. It's ours now, Reborn. _And there's nothing left of Reborn, a ghost walking in a shell, a dead person trapped in a baby's brain.

_v. Fuuta  
_

Fuuta is pink and soft and sweet, like the first flowers of spring, like children's laughter on a summer night, like cotton candy and daydreams. And Fuuta likes to daydream. Likes to pretend that pink is the only color in the world, that there is only sweetness and light. That right is right, wrong is wrong. That there is no red, no blood (_blood, blood like his, they want his blood, they want him and his blood and his ability_), that all the other colors are gone (_oh look at all the pretty colors, the bright colors, how they burn, how they come, come after me_). But as good as he is at daydreaming; the dreams always end because dreams can't hide reality. They want him, his book. They chase him and he needs to be protected. But he likes to pretend, pretend that he's strong, that he doesn't need to be protected. But his pretending always ends too, doesn't it?

_vi. Hibari  
_

Hibari is the last thing from sweet. He's not the ripe pieces of strawberries; sweet crispness nestled among the soft, smooth cream. He's the tangy, tart pieces of berry, the bitter seeds that get stuck in your teeth and refuse to leave. Because he won't leave either. He'll never be demolished, wiped away. Because he is strong, sharp, tough and nothing will ever change that. He's strong because he _is_, because he _has to be, wants to be_. Because only the strong survive, only the strong have respect, only the strong really live.

_vii. Yamamoto  
_

Yamamoto is sweet. Sweet like berries wrapped in cream, sweet like a gentle summer's rain. Sweet like his laugh, like his touch, like his attitude. Sweet like lies, because that's all it is, _lieslieslies._ And he's sweet like poison on berries, sweet like the heavy drumming rain of a monsoon as it wipes away everything in its path. And his laugh hides his anger, and that touch can kill as well as comfort. Because Yamamoto is a fighter, a killer, a Guardian and that's something he can never forget.


	5. Violet Icing

_A/N: A quicker update this time! I'm hoping to keep it that way too, an update at least every week, but don't hold me to that. Also, a big thank you to omgpink for your two very nice reviews. I must admit both of them made me a very happy person reading them. So guess what, you win a one-shot/drabble as well. Message me with a character or fandom and a prompt and I'll do my best! Again, thank you. And thank **you**_, _whoever is reading this chapter._

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Disclaimer: I do not own _Katekyo Hitman Reborn._

Summary: A series of character studies, because every character deserves a tale, even if it is never heard. Part Five: Violet Icing

Chapter Summary: Violet Icing. Genkishi, Fran, Mukuro, Mammon, Chrome, Skull, Yamamoto. 

Desserts

Part V: Violet Icing

_i. Genkishi  
_

And he'd failed once at being perfect. The disease had still gotten him; drug him down into the clutches of cold cold death. But his god had saved him, given him a second chance. Another chance to be _perfectperfectperfect_. And he'd strived for it, that perfection. He'd touched it, tasted it, became it. He was perfect, wasn't he? So why was he back where he started, lying on the cold surface, face to face with death again? Why had his god, his perfection embodied, failed him now? 

_ii. Fran  
_

And Fran is perfect. After all, isn't he strong? Isn't he one of the most powerful illusionists in the world? Wasn't he chosen by Mukuro as a student, Mukuro who detests weakness and hates the world, Mukuro who is strong and perfection. Wasn't he chosen by the Varia, who are the strongest anyone has ever known? But Fran isn't perfect, is he? Because Fran is a bastard, a smart-assed bastard kid and they all look down on him in their own ways. And Fran is perfect and not perfect and this big contradiction. Because Fran is human and isn't that what all humans are? 

_iii. Mukuro  
_

Mukuro was perfect. He alone had walked all Six Paths of Transmigration and came out unscathed. He alone can steal bodies from others; he alone can control reality and bend it to his will. He is perfect, a god amongst mere mortals. But he knows what it is to fail, to feel that chain around his neck as they drag him to his prison, to be locked away, deep under the ground where no one can see him, far away from the world. But if he's perfect, how can he fail? What is he missing? 

_iv. Mammon  
_

And he knew what it was to be looked down on, to feel inferior. He's the best of the best in his field; why else would he be chosen to be an Arcobaleno. He is Viper, he is Mammon, the most powerful illusionist the world had ever seen. He was powerful, a god among men. Couldn't he make them bleed, make them beg and grovel for mercy, all without laying a hand on them? He could make them bend and break without even speaking a single word, lifting a single finger. He could do it with his mind, with the unbelievable power he had. But when he was with them all, the Arcobaleno, of which he was rightfully one, he knew what it was like to be looked down on, to feel unworthy. Because to them, he was just a lowly illusionist, too weak, too pathetic to fight. To them, all he had was cheap tricks to use because he couldn't fight fairly; he wasn't good enough to win without some trick. They never had to say it, because they never did, but the fact was always there, always eating at his mind. 

_v. Chrome  
_

Chrome knew she was a failure but still, those words, they echoed inside her head. Mukuro had said them, thrown them out there to mock her for her failure. She wasn't good enough, she never had been. She'd failed as a daughter because Nagi hadn't been enough for her parents. And she'd failed Ken and Chikusa because she wasn't who they needed, who they wanted, because she wasn't Mukuro. And she failed Mukuro because she was weak. She'd always fail because she was just a 'foolish, ignorant little girl' and she had no idea how to become anything else. 

_vi. Skull  
_

Skull is a failure and that's all he's ever known. He likes to lie though, lie to everyone, including himself, lie that he is special and strong and worthy. But he's weak and pathetic, easily broken and oh-so-weak. And when he's alone at night, washing his face before bed, he sometimes catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He always tries to turn away quickly, he has no vanity, he hates what he sees reflected in the glass. But sometimes, like tonight, he stands there for a second, entranced by the image in the glass. Because he doesn't look like a failure, no. But if he looks deeply, staring into the mirror, staring into the violet orbs reflected back at him (_violet, purplepurplepurple, just like your flame, ha isn't that ironic?_), he can see it all. The weak, pathetic being he is, the loser, the failure that is him, shown in a glass. And raising a fist, he slams it into the mirror, glass breaking and shattering as blood drips down his hand from hundreds of tiny cuts. Because he really hates mirrors; because he really hates himself. 

_vii. Yamamoto  
_

And Yamamoto knows what it is to strive for perfection. He's been doing it all his life. And he's had his little tastes of it, his triumphs and victories, on the baseball field and beyond. And he's never once thought about any of the things he's missed, never thought of the things you give up to become perfect. But now he truly knows what it means to have to sacrifice it all for that one dream, that unattainable goal of perfection. Because now he has to choose. To give up his old dream, to give up what he loved, to give up baseball and forever follow the blade, or to keep his game and sacrifice all he's learned, to give up on new dreams, barely formulated but still swirling around. He chose the blade, chose the family. Another sacrifice for the world of perfection.


	6. Dark Chocolate

_A/N: Thank you to everyone for the reviews! They make me very happy. To my two new reviewers, Candybook and marsnmonkey, to thank you for taking time to read and review my work, I extend you the same one-shot/drabble offer that I gave my other reviewers. Simply message me with a fandom or character and a prompt and I'll be glad to do something up for you._

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_Disclaimer: I do not own _Katekyo Hitman Reborn._

Summary: A series of character studies, because every character deserves a tale, even if it is never heard. Part Six: Dark Chocolate

Chapter Summary: Dark Chocolate. Kusakabe, Lanchia, Verde, Reborn, Lambo, Gokudera

Desserts

Part VI: Dark Chocolate

_i. Kusakabe  
_

And if you had asked, Kusakabe could've told you that he was jealous of Hibari. Not for any reason in particular, but for millions of fragmented things. Trivial, pathetic things. Jealous of the other boy's looks, far better than his own. Jealous of his self-sufficiency, his fierce independence. Jealous of his strength. And he'd keep on being jealous, though all those things he was so jealous of, all those things that he _hatedhatedhated_, all those things were what drew him, hooked him and chained him to this man. Yes, he'd be forever jealous but he'd push it aside as hard as he could because he knew, as he'd known for a while now, that he'd never be able to walk away now.

_ii. Lanchia_

As weird as it sounded, Lanchia was jealous of Mukuro. Mukuro had come into his life, became like a cute little brother to him. He'd been a little jealous of him then, of how he'd been accepted into the family so quickly and of how much attention he got from the other family members. A real asset to the family, how valuable to us he'll be, that's what they'd said. Oh yes, he was a real asset when he possessed Lanchia and made him kill the family. He was a real asset when he manipulated and pulled his strings for five years, making him dance for him. And even then, Lanchia had been jealous of him. Jealous of his power. If he only had that amount of power, he wouldn't be in this position; he could kill that smug bastard. Even now, he was still jealous because Mukuro got to be locked away, floating unconsciously in the lowest levels of the Vendice Water Prison. Because Mukuro got to escape the world, unplagued by the thoughts of what he'd done, unlike him, and for that, he was the most jealous.

_iii. Verde_

And Verde was eternally jealous. He was jealous of everyone and everything now, jealous of the children he saw because they'd know what it was like to grow up and grow old, a privilege he'd never have again. He was jealous of the lovers he saw holding hands, giggling together because he'd never be able to be someone's lover again, his mind stuck in this baby's body. He was jealous of those in their graves because he wouldn't be going there anytime soon he knew. He was jealous and he was bitter but that was their fault. It was all their fault; they'd made him into this. But he'd fix it even if it pushed him past that line of insanity he'd toed all his life. He'd fix it and then he'd show them, he'd show them all what true revenge was.

_iv. Reborn_

It was funny how jealous Reborn really was. He was jealous of Verde and Mammon who were so unafraid of showing their anger about what had happened to them. He was jealous of Lal, who'd had someone who was willing to try to save her from this fate. He was jealous of his students, who'd grow old and grow happier. He was jealous of Bianchi, who'd been able to accept the body that he still couldn't. But he hid it well and no one knew the anger and jealousy bubbling inside of him. Nobody knew the months he'd spent in self-imposed exile, cursing the pacifier, cursing the Arcobaleno, cursing the world. They'd never know how he'd tried everything he could to find a reversal…because if there was one thing that he excelled at, it was hiding things. They'd never know because he'd never tell.

_v. Lambo_

Lambo had known the sting of failure all his life. And yet it was funny that he'd be the one of the Guardians to not be jealous. He had no grasp of jealousy. Well, he hadn't for nigh on twenty years. And wasn't it funny that when he did find jealousy, the one he should be jealous of was himself? Because he was jealous of himself, of the him he had used to be, that obliviously innocent and naive child, that happy-go-lucky crybaby of a teenager. Because they hadn't known what he knew now. They hadn't known what it was to watch all those around you fall to the perils of their jobs, surrendering to those stronger than you, falling in a hail of bullets or just giving in to the darkness of old age like every human does. They hadn't been preoccupied, as he was every day, with that one nagging thought. Would you rather fall and leave it all behind or be the one left behind while all others around you fell?

_vi. Gokudera_

And he tries not to wallow in self-pity, to not be weak. But if you asked him what he was jealous of, he'd probably tell you something like this. _I'm jealous of the COMSUBIN with their heavy firepower _or _I'm jealous of whoever can fight better than me_. But if you kept listening, seeking the truth under his words, you might begin to hear things like this. _I'm jealous of the baseball freak because he has a father who loves him. And I'm jealous of Tsuna, because he'll grow up to be the one everyone notices. I'm jealous of him because he has Reborn. I'm jealous of the lawn-head because he has Colonello. And I'm jealous of Shamal because he can manage to just not care. I'm jealous of the whole damn world because it seems like everyone's getting something and I'm left behind. _And if you listened to the very end, you might just hear this. _Truth be told, I'm just a jealous person. But that's what makes me human, I guess._


	7. Black Coffee

Disclaimer: I do not own _Katekyo Hitman Reborn._

Summary: A series of character studies, because every character deserves a tale, even if it is never heard. Part Seven: Black Coffee

Chapter Summary: Black Coffee. Lussuria, Levi, Xanxus, Mukuro, Bianchi, Tsuna, Hibari

Desserts

Part VII: Black Coffee

_i. Lussuria_

Nobody would ever think of Lussuria as bitter, that was for sure. In fact, people often wondered how he could remain so bubbly and up-beat, how he didn't fall trappings to the jaded cynicism that usually came with his job. But they don't know the truth because nobody can see inside someone else's mind. Because Lussuria is the most bitter and jaded member of the Varia, even surpassing Xanxus because all his anger and resentment and bitterness is turned inwards, self-destructing hate. And they don't know how much he sickens himself, how bitter he is to be this way. They think he's okay with his sexuality with how open and flamboyant he acts but they don't know how bitter he is at his attraction to men, about how he cursed his homosexuality and all the prejudice and complications it brought. They might think he's okay with his fetishes but they don't know how much he sickens himself as his body reacts to the freshly dead bodies. They might think he's happy but they don't know how often he just burns to kill everything in sight, to wipe out the world in a sea of blood so that he can drown himself in it, enjoying the suffocating. They don't know anything after all.

_ii. Levi  
_

And Levi is brutal and calculating and cold. He was jaded and cynical and oh-so-bitter. But he had reason to be, didn't he? He had given it all up, all his hopes and aspirations to serve that man. He'd become the perfect killing machine, been obedient and perfect, the ultimate minion. All to serve that man, all to be acknowledged by him, to be his right hand forever. But that's too much for him to have, isn't it? That's too good for stupid, pathetic Levi. Because the boss didn't want him, the boss wouldn't ever make him his right hand. And it was all that stupid shark's fault.

_iii. Xanxus  
_

Xanxus is strong, pure anger, burning in its total coldness. He cannot lose, doesn't lose. Failure isn't something he's ever tasted. He'd been trained in everything he could ever need, had unleashed the full power of the Flame of Wrath. Losing had never entered his mind when this had begun. He'd never imagined this when his bitterness and resentment had driven him to this, to this fight against the old man. The old man who was the cause of all that anger, of all that resentment, that lying old bastard, the old man who was the first to make him taste defeat.

_iv. Mukuro  
_

And Mukuro is always bitter, only bitter. He is hot, burning hate and resentment, always bitter and always dreaming. Dreaming silently in his inner world, casting wonderful illusions inside his head of what his life should have been, of what it could have been. Spinning delicate scenes inside his head of happy childhood memories with parents who should have loved him _(But they hadn't, had they? They hadn't loved, hadn't wanted, cast him aside)_ to replace his childhood memories of experiments and torture and pain _(oh god the pain, the pain, how it had never seemed to stop, oh how it hurt when they stuck that needle into his eye, how it hurt when they'd gouged it out to modify it, how it had hurt when they'd replaced it)_. But he never does get beyond dreaming, never can make those pretty illusions reality.

_v. Bianchi  
_

She tries every day not to feel too bitter, to not feel all that pent up anger and resentment because it was all too stressful and it just hurt so much sometimes. She tried not to think of how her life should have been, how she'd dreamed it would be, with a husband and children and a love that would never die. She tried not to think of things that were impossible. Because she'd never have that, would she? She couldn't…and all because of that so-called 'curse', all because of those stupid pacifiers and his stupid honor that hadn't let him turn them down. You couldn't help who you loved anyways, could you? And if you could, would you even want to?

_vi. Hibari  
_

He didn't know when he'd chosen this life, this existence of pain and bloodshed, of war and battle. Maybe it was the first time his father had hit him, the moment when he swore that he'd grow strong enough to never have anyone lay a hand on him again. Maybe it was the first time he'd followed in his father's violent footsteps and beat someone, his tonfas cracking the back of their skull with a sickening crack. Maybe it had been then, that first beating where he'd felt something inside him, maybe it was that little thing others called empathy or conscience, splinter and crack beautifully with a little jolt of inner pain. Maybe, he thought with a smirk, taking a sip of his bitter coffee, he was just a masochist.

_vii. Tsuna  
_

Lord, did he have his bitter moments. But he'd learned one thing from Reborn very well and that was how to hide things. So he never let others guess of his bitterness, his resentment. He never let them know of how sometimes he just felt so angry, so bitter at his predecessor and at the family at whole. He'd never wanted this life, had refused time and time again. But he'd been stuck with it and he'd been forced to accept it. This life had been crammed down his throat and he'd taken what he was given. But that didn't mean that he wanted it now anymore than he did back then. It didn't mean his bitterness would ever subside, didn't mean that someday, he'd figure a way to leave this all behind.


	8. Florentine's

Disclaimer: I do not own _Katekyo Hitman Reborn._

Summary: A series of character studies, because every character deserves a tale, even if it is never heard. Part Eight: Florentine's

Chapter Summary: Florentine's. Uni, Hana, Lal Mirch, Fuuta, Chrome, Lambo, Tsuna, Gokudera, Timoteo

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Desserts

Part VIII: Florentine's

_i. Uni_

And she is beautiful in her breaking. Maybe it's because she understands the innate beauty that comes from breaking. Maybe it's because she allowed herself to be broke, because she broke for them. She let him break her willingly, to take her mind and her body and break them, crush them in his darkness. Or maybe it's because she understands that the pain that comes from breaking is its own beautiful double-edged sword, because she understands that while bodies and minds can be broken, her heart never can. Because her heart is theirs and they protect it unknowingly and he can't break what he can't get.

_ii. Hana_

She stayed because she loved him, even as she broke silently into tiny pieces. She breaks every time he walks through that door, bloodied and beaten. But she stays because he is her life and she stays because she has to, because she can't leave. So she stays and breaks and wonders when it'll all fall down, when he'll fall. Because she knows it will, knows that he will, and when he does she'll shatter.

_iii. Lal Mirch_

She was broken all her life, a broken spirit in a broken body. And he'd broke her and created her. He'd fit her pieces together, sealing them with his looks, his teasing words, with his undeniably love for her. And funny how that love would be the thing that destroyed her utterly. Funny how he'd put her together, sealing all the pieces of her spirit back together. Ironic since he turned around and broke her heart. Because he'd went and died on her and now there was no hope of being put back together. _Come with me?_ Yes. Yes Colonello, I'm ready to come with you now, she thought as the pain in her body started numbing as her consciousness faded. Yes. I'm ready to come now.

_iv. Fuuta_

Fuuta's little and younger and just a child. He's small and innocent and beautiful and it would be so easy to break him. But he doesn't have to worry about that because they're always there, always protecting him. And he's just a child so he doesn't stop to think of what will happen when Tsuna-nii and the others aren't there anymore, when they're gone and he's got nowhere to turn for safety. How fast will it all break apart then?

_v. Chrome_

And Chrome knows what it is to break, to bleed, to fall into a million separate pieces like Humpty Dumpty on his wall. But Chrome isn't broken, no…but Chrome was once Nagi and Nagi is broken, broken, gone. Because Nagi shattered like a mirror and Chrome is but a piece of that mirror. She's a sliver, rough edges and incomplete reflections. But Chrome doesn't have the rest of the pieces she needs to be whole again. Nagi has those pieces but Nagi is dead. Chrome can never be whole, no, but at least, she thinks, Chrome can never break.

_vi. Lambo_

If you had asked who'd be easiest to break in the Vongola Decimo's family, the answer you'd have received would be Lambo. After all, he's whiny and cowardly and a cry-baby. He seemed to fall apart at the smallest drop. But it's funny how people can surprise you. He's cowardly, he's a cry-baby, and he's whiny. That's all true, yes. But easily broken? Never. Because he can't be broke, because he has this beautiful ability to put himself back together, this wonderful determination and perseverance to succeed. He'll never break because he refuses to break, because he covers up those cracks with his own inner will and keeps moving forward.

_vii. Tsuna_

And nobody had thought Tsuna would be the one to break. After all, he was Tsuna, kind-hearted Tsuna who hesitated to hurt anyone, who showed sympathy to all. But in the end, it had taken little to break him. The bodies of all he had known fallen, mangled and carved beyond recognition; the red staining his base turning the one place they all should've felt safe into a sea of blood; the body of a broken girl, her last grateful smile frozen forever on her face, her eyes still open and gazing up adoringly at the man she'd chosen to serve forever; a pair of hetero-chromatic eyes staring at him and a smug smirk, the proclamation of _I told you I was only biding my time, Vongola Tenth_. And he'd broken.

_viii. Gokudera_

And he'd been breaking all his life, invisible cracks marring his body, his mind, his soul. A mother dead, his source of pure love gone. Crack. A father indifferent, eyes only for his legitimate child. Another crack. A sister intent on torturing him. Another crack. A world seemingly against him, looking down on him always. A thousand more cracks. And he'd been growing closer to breaking for a while now, those cracks steadily growing larger until he was on the verge of just shattering apart. But then they'd came, all of them with their tubs of sealant and they'd started covering those cracks, filling them in with smiles and happiness, with love and understanding. And maybe he'd never have to crack again.

_ix. Timoteo_

It swam in his head, made him drown in it. He'd always been strong. Strong for the family. Strong for his family. His sons, his wife. But his wife was dead, long since gone up with the angels. And he broke, piece by little piece, as the reports were brought in. As piece by piece his world broke apart. His first son, dead. His second son, dead. His third son, dead. His fourth, not quite son, not dead but as good as. He'd be dead too soon. He had too much anger to live. _Deaddeaddeaddead_. His family was dead, gone, his mind swimming with images of their broken, bloated, dead bodies staring at him, eyes dead and accusing. Why weren't you strong enough to protect us? Why didn't you save us? They screamed at him, those broken bodies he saw behind his eyes. When would it end for him? When could he break?


	9. Hershey's Kisses

Disclaimer: I do not own _Katekyo Hitman Reborn._

Summary: A series of character studies, because every character deserves a tale, even if it is never heard. Part Nine: Hershey's Kisses

Chapter Summary: Hershey's Kisses. Basil, Fon, Fuuta, I-Pin, Yamamoto, Kyoko

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Desserts

Part IX: Hershey's Kisses

_i. Basil_

And he is sweet and innocent and that works in his favor. He approaches him, all sweetness and innocence. He's lost his dog, would the man know where it is? No? Could he perhaps help him look for it? He wouldn't ask, but he's very worried. And the man agrees, follows him to the spot where he last saw the dog. And then the man is no more, fallen beneath Basil's blade. Because Basil isn't all sweetness and light, because Basil is strength and determination, deadly purpose hidden beneath sunshine smiles.

_ii. Fon_

And Fon isn't a part of the mafia by choice and Fon's given up competing in the tournaments by choice. Now Fon's just a teacher, a mentor, and that's the way he likes it. That's his choice. And he isn't a teacher because of what he can't do, but because of what he can do. Because he can do far too much, much too well and it scares him, he scares himself. And it gets him, right in the heart, where it hurts far too much. Because he knows that if he lets himself, he can do all too well. He could kill and kill and kill, snapping their necks, breaking their bones. And the killing _hurtshurtshurts _and it's all just too _goddamn _much.

_iii. Fuuta_

And Fuuta lies all the time, constantly lies, to everyone and everything, but mostly to himself. Because Fuuta hates ranking and Fuuta hates making those stupid lists. Because Fuuta hates the Mafia, hates the fighting and the killing. But he stays in the family, keeps ranking, keeps learning to kill and fight, to fight and kill. Keeps learning new skills, new ways to help the family. He keeps living, plotting and planning the myriad ways to kill everyone and everything. Because he hates them; because he loves them.

_iv. I-Pin_

I-Pin is what she is but not what she wants to be. She'd rebelled against it once, given up the life of an assassin, given up the family to live a normal life. But she never can give it up because it's just reaction now, just ingrained patterns and maybe he's to blame for that, maybe, just maybe, in her hearts of hearts, she blames him for it all. And she's bitter and in that bitterness, she is sweet. Because she can never fully leave and she's accepted that. But acceptance isn't forgiveness but she knows better than to hold grudges, to struggle against fate. So she follows. For now.

_v. Yamamoto_

Yamamoto is sweet and innocent, friendly and upbeat. He is naïve and just Yamamoto. He can laugh and love and live. But those are all just illusions, just smoke and mirrors and tricks aren't they? Because Yamamoto isn't Vongola for no reason, he's not a Guardian for nothing. Because Yamamoto is strong and fearful, Yamamoto is a fighter and a natural born assassin, Yamamoto is a killer. And Yamamoto is _dyingdyingdying _as they all do for the family. Because he knows all too well what it feels like to shove that sword upwards into someone, to feel the blood dripping down his hand. Because he knows what it is to get hit by the splatter of blood as he cuts an opponent's throat. And each death takes a part of him with him, until there'll be no more Yamamoto left, until there will just be Vongola, just Guardian.

_vi. Kyoko_

And she sits beside his bedside, staring down at him. She always worried about him, about his fighting but she'd never said anything. Because he was her brother, her source of comfort and her best friend. And she believed him. She believed his stupid promises; believed him when he said that if she just kept crying and worrying like she did, he couldn't lose. So what had the buckets of tears been for then? Because she'd been there, sobbing, watching as the one man she thought was indestructible and strong and unbeatable was brought down. And the surgeons and doctors and the friends, they all rush by in a whirl as she sits there day in and day out. Funny how they all ask that silly question. _Are you okay, Kyoko?_ God, isn't that answer obvious? But she doesn't say that, it's always the simple _yes_. And she's _lyinglyinglying _through her teeth but she makes it the truth, doesn't she?


	10. Burnt Marshmallow

_A/N: Please note that for extremely odd reason that's getting very upsetting, the site's editor is no longer saving any of my changes for spacing. I tried for the last hour and it did not save one change as far as spacing went. Please forgive how bunched up everything looks for the last two chapters. I apologize if it makes reading it difficult or looking at it more unattractive._

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Disclaimer: I do not own _Katekyo Hitman Reborn._

Summary: A series of character studies, because every character deserves a tale, even if it is never heard. Part Ten: Burnt Marshmallow

Chapter Summary: Burnt Marshmallow. Xanxus, Lanchia, Mukuro, Skull, Reborn, Hibari

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Desserts

Part X: Burnt Marshmallow

_i. Xanxus_

And Xanxus, for all his red-hot passion, for all his burning intensity, is hard and unforgiving. He is cold, he is ice. A thick wall of ice. But ice can be burning in its intense coldness and it burns _coldcoldhot_ if you get to close to it. You can't touch it, can't hold it, can't lean against it when you are tired, can't use it for shelter from the storm. You can only sit and marvel at its utter coldness, at its hardness and at its power. Even ice can melt from the heat of the sun, from flames and fire though. But that sun's been hiding for so long and he's still waiting for it to come out.

_ii. Lanchia_

And he is just another useful toy, serving its purpose of the moment. And maybe he's just Mukuro's puppet, his strings being twitched and pulled as fingers move and flicker. But he used to be so much more, didn't he? And maybe now, all he is is a killing machine. And maybe now, all he is is a shadow warrior, the fake Mukuro Rokudou. But that's just a mask he wears, a mask he is **forced** to wear. And maybe one day that mask will _crackcrackcrack_, maybe one day that mask will _breakbreakbreak_ and he'll be Lanchia again.

_iii. Mukuro_

And there's something cold in his face, something hard and bitter in that _uglyugly_**beautiful** face. There's something terrifying in those arrogant features, something fearful in those empty eyes. Empty just like his heart, that's what they whispered. Fucking bullshit, that's all that was. Empty just like his heart, that's what they whispered. But those eyes can see all too well how they flinch away in fear, how they don't want to touch him, how they see him as a monster. And maybe he is. Or maybe it's all just bullshit. Maybe it's just more of his smoke and mirrors. Because maybe he's not cold and nihilistic because he doesn't feel, because he doesn't know but because he knows too much, feels too much. Maybe it's because he sees more than anyone else, sees how humanity breaks and blackens themselves every single day. Maybe it's because he feels all the pain and anger and sickness roiling in his stomach, sticking in his throat and choking him. Maybe it's because he's always the consummate survivor as he studies and betters humanity, fighting and feeling enough for the whole damn world.

_iv. Skull_

_Mommy, why's that man have so many earrings? _She was a cute little girl, out shopping with her mother. And Skull would almost have laughed at her question, child-like and cute as it was. Would have, if not for the way the mother had pulled the daughter away instantly, muttering something about they had to get going now and leaving strange men alone, looking anywhere but at Skull. He would have bent down still and told the girl that it was okay to ask questions, would have laughed and answered her question if the mother's reaction hadn't reminded him of a million other ones. _Oh my god, what a freak! _or _He's so scary! I bet he's a punk!_ or a thousand and one other variations. Yeah, he would've said something, would've done something more than just turned around and walked away if the world was capable of doing something more than just judging him on his piercings and tattoos, on his leather and motorcycle; he would've if the world could only take time to judge by souls and actions, by words and who he was.

_v. Reborn_

Reborn is every inch an assassin, every touch the hitman. He is strong and brutal and ruthless in his attempts to erase the threats to the family. Reborn was hard and cold, fierce and proud, beautiful and completely untouchable. He was unshakable, stoic, unfazed by all things in life. He trusted nobody, wanted and needed nobody. But that wasn't quite true, was it, he thought as he watched his students as they talked and laughed together. They really didn't even need him. They could've made it quite well all on their own. They were good people; good men and they could've done this all with their own willpower. But he'd chosen to train them, to be with them even if they didn't need him. Because maybe it was the other way around, he mused, maybe he was the one needing them.

_vi. Hibari_

And Hibari is cold and cruel and sadistic and all those other things they accuse him of. And he is frightening and a monster, just like they say. But they also say that there is nothing good in Hibari, that he is all warrior god and bloodshed and battle. But sometimes Tsuna has to wonder if that is right, has to wonder at those times where Hibari seems to almost care, when he helps even though it goes against everything Hibari likes and believes in. And sometimes Kusakabe knows that isn't right, knows because the sting of the tonfas as they strike him is not as painful as it could be and should be, because the injuries aren't as critical as they should be and the blows aren't as often as one would expect. And sometimes they all wonder if that's true, staring at the ball of yellow fluff, feathers and beak and wings and legs.


	11. Baked Alaska

_A/N: This chapter officially marks the completion of Desserts. I hope you've all enjoyed the ride along with me. I'll be fulfilling the requests that I promised reviewers already and, as a special little something to mark my joy at completing this project, the first ten people who message me telling me correctly which author I'm paying homage to with the opening and closing lines of this chapter. Also, the editor is still not working for me, making this chapter far uglier for layout's than it originally was. I still apologize profusely for this ruination of the chapter.  
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Disclaimer: I do not own _Katekyo Hitman Reborn._

Summary: A series of character studies, because every character deserves a tale, even if it is never heard. Part Eleven: Baked Alaska

Chapter Summary: Baked Alaska. Haru, Nana, Iemitsu, Lal Mirch, Colonello, Luce, Bianchi, Chrome, Hana, Tsuna.

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Desserts

Part XI: Baked Alaska

_Do you love?_

_i. Haru_

And she didn't love him, the man who slipped under her covers with her. She didn't love him in the way he loved her, in the way he wanted for her to love him. Because she had loved before and still loved. Because she loved Tsuna, forever and for now. But Tsuna loved Kyoko. And Haru guessed that meant she should hate Kyoko but she didn't. Because Kyoko was her friend and because she loved her. And because she'd loved them both, because she'd wanted them both just to be happy, she'd given up. But that didn't mean that love ever died and that didn't mean that love didn't kill her every day, didn't make her head pound at the sight of Kyoko's wedding band, didn't make her stomach clench and her skin crawl at the feel of her own wedding ring, at the touch of her husband's hands _(not Tsuna-san's)_ on her skin.

_ii. Nana_

She cradled the letter to her chest, standing by the mailbox, eyes far away and expression stormy. He'd been gone so long now and she just felt so alone at times. He had loved her; she knew she wasn't imagining that. He'd married her, hadn't he? She'd been a good wife, a good mother, hadn't she? So why did he have to leave her so much? Why was he gone for years at a time? Had she gotten ugly, boring, annoying? Had his love died? Was that why he only sent letters? Is that why he never came back? _Iemitsu, do you love me?_

_iii. Iemitsu_

He'd loved her so much, his wife. He loved him too, their beautiful son. He'd loved them enough to walk away from the Vongola once, to go from being Vongola to being CEDEF. To being an outsider. And when the Vongola had called him again to fulfill his duty, he'd loved them enough to leave. He'd loved them enough to keep them from being targeted, to keep them from being part of that dirty life which he had to go back to. And though his heart hurt, he kept away, kept waiting for the day when he could return home. Until then, he had this pen, putting it to paper and letting her know he hadn't forgotten them, could never forget them. And he had his dreams, where he saw them every night. Where he heard her ask him, as she always used to do, if he loved her. And every night, he'd tell her the same thing. _I love you, Nana. Forever and always._

_iv. Lal Mirch_

Did she love? That thought ran through her mind as she stood in the cool night air, her eyes focused on the stars up in the sky, twinkling and winking at her. Yes, she'd loved and she loved still. Wasn't the proof of that in the smooth warmth of her pacifier as she gripped it tighter in her fist? Wasn't the proof of the love she had felt in that? In the image of the beautiful blond haired man as he tried his hardest to save her from this fate, the image that haunted her dreams and rose unbidden every time she closed her eyes? But she hadn't loved enough, had she? _Not enough _to show her love, _not enough _to face the fear of rejection, _not enough_ to accept his offer to come with him. _Colonello, I wonder where you are now?_

_v. Colonello_

Did he love? What a stupid question. He'd loved and he still loved, loved proudly and arrogantly, like he did everything else in his life. He glanced over the training ground in the darkening evening, the first stars starting to shine in the sky as his hand came up to touch the pacifier around his neck. He wore that pacifier with honor because it was the symbol of his love. It was proof that he'd felt it, that it was real and that he'd tried. But he hadn't been enough for her; he'd failed to make her safe, to keep her happy. He looked up at the stars with a smile, thinking of how she'd always liked stargazing. _I wonder if you're looking up at the same stars as me, Lal._

_vi. Luce_

And Luce had loved and cried and hurt and felt all her life, taking joy in the simple act of feeling, in the one thing that separated the living from the dead. But she'd never fully understood what it meant to cry until that moment, until she stood there in that circle, her body no longer her body but that of a baby. And her hand had drifted down to her swollen stomach, a baby with a baby on the way. She'd known but that didn't stop the sadness from coming. And she hadn't known pain until that first stabbing sensation in her stomach, that first sign that it was time. And she'd known that it would be worth it in the end, but that hadn't stopped it from hurting. She'd never known fear until she felt that cold, clammy hand of terror gripping her heart as the doctor's rushed and yelled, until they cut her open in a last ditch attempt to get the baby out alive, so they could get it out and put it in the incubator so that it might live, so that it might get healthy. And she'd never known love until she felt that first cry, her own tears streaming down. She'd never guessed at how indescribable, how humongous love could be until she looked at her baby's face, hand touching the warm plastic of the incubator as she watched her kicking, squirming baby. And she knew she'd have far too short a time with her, too little time to love and live. _I'm sorry, Aria. Just remember, this was all for you. I did this so that you might live in a better world. I did this for love._

_vii. Bianchi_

And he often heard others describe her as frightening, as terrifying and deadly, as a bitch. And on his best days, he sympathizes with them. Because he remembers her from when he was a child. He remembers the torture she put him through _(though he thinks sometimes, lost in memories, that maybe she didn't know that, maybe she just was trying to be a good sister)_, how much she scared him. And he agrees with them because now even now she can frighten him, because even now she's a formidable figure, when her rage sweeps over her and her eyes narrow and turn stormy, when her hair whips around her, when her anger threatens to melt everything, when he can't see where the mafioso ends and his sister begins. On his worst days, he can't help cursing them for their stupidity and blindness, for not being able to see her, for not wanting to see her.

_viii. Chrome_

Nagi had loved, maybe too much. And her love hadn't been enough, her love had betrayed her. And when Nagi became Chrome, Chrome swore that she'd never love that much again, that she'd conquer her love and wouldn't let it weaken her again. But she'd failed in that too. Because she loved, she loved so much, even though she knew he didn't love her, even though she knew to him she was just a means to an end. And wasn't it a self-destructive cycle, this love of hers?

_ix. Hana_

And she hadn't married him for sex or power or money like some said. And she hadn't married him for love like her friends believed. No, she'd married him because he'd asked, because he'd always been there. She married him because it was expected and because she hoped that someday there'd be real, true love. She married him for her hopes, because sometimes in his eyes she sees love, faith, desire, life. And sometimes she doesn't, but sometimes she does and that's enough for her. She marries him for her dreams, because she dreams that someday he'll open up and tell her everything, that someday they'll have the fairytale ending she's always wanted.

_x. Tsuna_

And he surprised them all and he surprised himself. Because who'd have thought that no-good Tsuna would defeat all those enemies, all those people stronger than him, smarter than him? Who'd have thought that Tsuna would become this determined, calm warrior, taking down Mukuro, taking down Xanxus, taking down Byakuran? Wiser and stronger had fallen to him because they didn't know. They didn't know the secret of his power, they didn't know what he knew, and most importantly, they didn't feel what he felt. They didn't care, they didn't love. But Tsuna did. Tsuna loved his parents and he loved his friends. He loved Reborn; he loved his family, the family he hadn't even wanted at first. He loved himself, despite all his faults and weaknesses. No, he loved himself for those weaknesses. And he loved his enemies because they were real and alive and they just didn't understand, loved them because they were lost souls and they didn't know it. He loved the whole wide world, with all its crime and drama and stupidity. He loved every goddamn molecule in the air because it was real and a part of it all. And when it came down to it, that's all everything boiled down to. Just love.

_Do you love?_

_Yes. And true love never dies._


End file.
